


Purified By Flame

by Smutnug



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bad Decisions, Eventual Smut, F/M, Got a bit dark there, Oral Sex, Ouch, Porn With Plot, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Sex, Unhappy Ending, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutnug/pseuds/Smutnug
Summary: Sort of canon but mostly headcanon account of a relationship between Catryn Surana and Cullen Rutherford, beginning pre-Origins and ending after the Broken Circle quest. NSFW.





	1. A Mage of the Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Origins. If you're here for plot and angst, read this. If you're after smut, next chapter (warning, next chapter also contains plot and angst)

Catryn glanced under her lashes at the young Templar, standing rigidly to attention in the otherwise serene atmosphere of the library. The only sounds were the scratch of quills on parchment, the occasional soft rasp of a page turning. His face was impassive, amber eyes trained on the wall opposite, but as she watched she saw his jaw clench, a small flicker of his eyes in her direction. When he caught her eyes his gaze turned back to the wall and he swallowed convulsively, a flush creeping up to his red-tinged curls as he raised his chin and planted his armoured feet a fraction farther apart.

She ducked her head to hide a smile beneath her cloud of blonde hair, and had to stifle a giggle as Jowan kicked her under the table.

“Cat”, he muttered between his teeth. “Stop. That.” She returned the kick, shoulders trembling with barely contained mirth. She glanced up once more and earned a slight frown from the flustered Templar.

A bell rang, and the apprentices looked to the supervising enchanter before closing the dry magical tomes before them and gathering up bundles of rolled parchment. Chairs scraped and robes swished as the apprentices filed out of the library, soft chatter filling the corridor as the huge wooden doors closed behind them.

Jowan elbowed her. “You are trouble, Surana. You're a bad, bad elf.”

“We're all bad in here,  _ mage.”  _ Dana caught up with them, long braid swinging over her shoulder.

“And some mages are badder than most.”

Cat tilted her head up towards Jowan, one eyebrow raised. “Badder?”

He shot one hand out and tickled her waist, making her giggle and squirm. “You heard me.  _ Badder.” _

“Are you teasing that poor baby Templar again?” Dana nudged her with a hip. “Wicked little elf.”

"What's this, apprentices?” Armour clanked as a Templar shifted from his slouch against the wall. Cat had to crane her head to see his face. He was one she hadn’t seen before, no more than five-and-twenty with close-cropped dark curls, laughing brown eyes belying the mock severity of his tone.

Cat curtsied. “My apologies, Ser Templar. You're new?”

He bowed slightly, sparing an admiring glance for Dana who was twisting her braid coquettishly in her fingers. 

“Watch this one Ser, she's trouble”, Cat said, skipping lightly away from Dana’s pinching fingers. She smiled over her shoulder at the Templar as they reached the dormitory entrance.

She turned to see a younger apprentice regarding them with horror.

“How can you provoke the Templars so?” the girl whispered. “You don't know what they might do.”

“Don't be afraid of them, Keili”, she said, loud enough to reach the Templar’s ears. “Under all that steel they're just big puppies.” The Templar graced them with a warm smile and a nod towards Keili before turning his attention back to the traffic in the corridor.

Keili blanched. She was new to the Circle herself, mousish and devout. It had taken months before she stopped crying herself to sleep at night, but she still kept her head down, cringing if the Templars so much as glanced in her direction. It didn't pay to be so jumpy, Catryn reasoned. She skirted the edge of insolence at times, but showing fear could only make them suspicious of you.

“Leave some Templars for the other hussies, won't you?” Jowan muttered, stashing a pile of books in his foot locker.

She perched on the edge of her bunk, bouncing up and down with a smirk on her lips. “You wound me, Jowan. I'm a one-Templar elf. Dana, on the other hand...well she's not an elf, but you get my meaning.”

Dana smirked and flicked the end of her braid against her lips. She nodded towards the corridor. “Who is that?”

Jowan grimaced. “Ser Galloway. Seems decent enough for one of them. Transferred from somewhere in the Free Marches, I heard.”

“How does a Templar get transferred?” she wondered.

He shrugged. “Torrid affairs with apprentice mages, no doubt.” He joined Cat on the bunk. “Speaking of which, you need to stop torturing poor Cullen.”

She smiled. “Why? He loves it.”

His tone grew serious. “And maybe he does. Are you prepared for what that means?”

“I think I know how these things work, Jowan.” She kept her tone light. “If growing up in the alienage didn't give me an education in  _ adult relations _ , the Circle surely did.” 

The Circle tower afforded few opportunities for privacy, but all the apprentices at some stage had turned a blind eye to quick trysts in the shadowy corners, smothered grunts and moans as the mages sought what pleasure they could before a patrolling Templar caught them with their robes up. Such transgressions were expected, but still punishable.

“I’m not talking about sex, Cat.” She looked up to find his face uncharacteristically serious. “Not in that way, anyway. You may think you can handle yourself but he has all the power. What if you change your mind? Will he let you?”

She flushed. “He's not like that.”

“Even so, it's a world of trouble. For him as well as you. But more for you. They can't very well make him-” He hesitated as if the word itself had power. “Tranquil.”

She punched his arm, perhaps a little too hard. “That is not a reason to make someone tranquil, dung-head!”

He rubbed his arm and the bunk creaked as he stood up. “Maybe not. Just...don't push your luck,  _ apprentice.” _

_ “ _ Anyway, I think he only has eyes for Amell over here”, Cat said, and Dana rolled her eyes. “Look at her with her chestnut hair, her big doe eyes, her human curves...and I'm nothing but a pointy little elf. What was that lovely thing you called me when we were thirteen? Oh yes, a stick with tits.”

“And in return you put an ice spell on my underclothes, if I remember correctly.” He stood up. “If you're fishing for compliments you'll get none here, Surana. Either one of you just need to bat your eyelashes and Cullen would be out of that armour before you could say ‘abomination'. The poor fool doesn’t know what a pair of vicious harridans you both are.”

“Jealousy is a curse, Jowan”, said Cat, lying back on the bunk. 

“Jealous? You’re practically my sisters, and hideous to boot.”

“Do you even remember your family? Amell here could be your sister. Anyone could be your sister! Best remain single.”

“Your mind is terrifying, Surana. I’ll see you filthy magelets at dinner, I have to help Leorah sort herbs.”

“That’s Enchanter Leorah to you, apprentice, unless...did she ask you to call her Leorah?” Dana fluttered her eyelashes.

“Careful Jowan, she just might be your mother.”

“More likely yours!’ Jowan retorted over his shoulder. “She has your ears!”

“Oh yeah? Well she's about to have your - no, it’s too easy.”

“You two are the worst people I know! And I know the Knight-Commander!”

Cat smiled at the familiar slats of the bunk above her, etched with the oftentimes colourful graffiti of generations of apprentice mages. It was a far cry from freedom here in the Circle, but having a bed to sleep in and regular meals was infinitely better than the little she remembered of sleeping rough in Denerim. More often than not, it felt like home. It felt like family.

 

 

* * *

 

She made her way through the corridors, hurrying by the stockroom where the dead-eyed Tranquil worked. The tower wasn't a big place, but she wasn't used to visiting the Chantry. The junior apprentice had been certain he had seen Jowan going in there, and as unlikely as that sounded she wanted to talk to him. She passed Ser Galloway and he winked at her. She smiled and shook her head. That one was entirely too friendly toward the mages. She appreciated the kindness, but if he didn't show more discretion he would find himself disciplined, if not transferred again. The Templars were after all their gaolers as much as their guardians, there to enforce the strict Circle rules and expected to strike them down in an instant if they were to become compromised.

The Chantry was all but empty at this time of day and the initiate who would normally be in attendance was nowhere to be seen. Keili knelt in the far corner by a candle-covered shrine, chanting softly.

Cat's eyes wandered over the Chantry altar, the blank-faced statue of the Maker's bride. She half wished she could summon up the faith to ask Andraste for guidance, although she had no expectation the long-dead prophet would answer. Jowan might not be much more use, but she needed to talk to him about Dana. Their friend had become withdrawn in past weeks, gaunt, her laughter seeming forced. To Cat she insisted nothing was wrong, but was it too much to hope she might have confided something in Jowan? The two of them were, after all, her oldest friends.

She cleared her throat and Keili jumped as if struck by lightning. “Have you seen Jowan?” Cat asked.

“Jowan, here? I don't think so!” She scrambled to her feet. “If I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him.”

She brushed her robes and turned to leave, jumping again as she nearly collided with Ser Cullen. She blanched, and fled after a quick curtsey, her slippered steps fading along the corridor.

Cullen frowned and made as if to follow her, but Cat restrained him with a hand on his arm. He looked at her quizzically.

“Please don't. She just came here to pray. She's frightened by you, but she's done nothing wrong.”

The Templar seemed transfixed by her hand on his plated arm. He was young, at most a year or two older than her own eighteen or so years, his pleasant, if not strictly handsome face not severe like some of the Templars, but always serious. His strawberry blond curls were damp from his recently-shed helmet. He looked her in the face now, and she felt a shiver low in her belly.

“And you, Surana? Did you come here to pray? I don't recall ever seeing you in here.”

“N-no”, she stammered, suddenly flushed. “I was looking for someone.” Stupidly she cast her eyes around, as if there might be a person hidden amongst the religious texts or tucked away in the folds of Andraste’s marble robes.

He raised an eyebrow at her and she met his gaze, for once lost for words. She realised her hand was still on his arm and withdrew it, awkwardly clutching it to her robe.

“I, er, should be going.” She had to skirt around him to escape the enclave and he was positioned such that he couldn't step back. She slid past him and on a sudden wicked impulse she lifted her face to his, pressing a hand against his armoured chest and when he looked down in surprise, standing on her toes to plant a soft kiss on his lips. His lips fell open, perhaps more from shock than anything, and she slipped her tongue quickly against his parted mouth before pushing away and almost running from the Chantry, not daring to glance back at him.

_ Stupid, stupid girl, _ she thought as she hurried back towards the dormitory, fingers pressed against her smiling lips.

 

* * *

 

Jowan jostled her aside on the bench, dumping his plate on the long dining table with a clatter.

“Where have you been?” she hissed. He smirked in reply, his mouth stuffed full of crusty brown bread.

She idly speared vegetables on her fork, waiting for him to swallow. On her other side sat Dana, listlessly toying with her own food. Cat turned to Jowan. “What do you know about Keili?”

“Apart from her being a sanctimonious bore, you mean?” At her rolled eyes, he shrugged. “She's from a farmhold near Amaranthine. I heard she was going to be a Chantry sister.” Something in his voice was odd here, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He continued in a rush. “No surprises there! Anyway, her brother was burned. Quite badly I believe. She healed him, they shut her away, and next thing the Templars brought her here.”

She snorted. “That's gratitude for you.”

“Yes, well. Gratitude is one of many things we mages must forgo.” She was surprised at the uncharacteristic bitterness in his voice, but before she could question him he asked “Why? Has the little mouse offended you somehow?”

“No”, she said, frowning. “Something's not right with her, is all.”

“It's nothing new,” he said, trying and failing to sound jovial. “Look around you, do people seem happy?”

She glanced at Dana, who seemed not to heed their conversation at all.

“Well it's not a neverending feastday, but it could be worse. We're fed, housed, protected…”

“Protected?” he hissed. “We're nothing but rats in a trap.”

“Before the circle I was a knife-eared gutter-rat without family. When my magic showed I was lucky to end up here and not drowned in a sack like a kitten! I mean it's shit, obviously, but it's not the worst sort of shit in Thedas.”

She regretted her harsh tone at his stricken face, before he recovered and grinned. “Well, yes, but we're not all so lucky as to have had your terrible start in life.” He winced at her sharp elbow in his ribs. “All I'm saying is that for some of us, like Keili, this is the lowest they've been. They don't bar the windows this high up because they're afraid we'll learn to fly, you know.”

She placed a forkful of food in her mouth and chewed, but her appetite had fled.

“Anyway,” he twisted in his seat, then looked back at her. “What in the Maker's name have you done to poor Cullen?”

She choked momentarily and tried to hide her discomfort with a long drink of water. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“He won't stop staring at you.” She shrugged. “No, I mean  _ staring”,  _ he hissed. “Someone will no-tice…”

She hitched up the end of her robe and clambered off the bench, careful not to bump Dana. “I'm not hungry,” she said. “Finish mine if you like.” Before she turned to go he had stuffed her roll in his mouth, grinning breadily.

She threaded her way through the packed dining hall, despite her better judgment her eyes seeking Cullen’s in the crowd. When their eyes met they both broke contact as if burned, and she felt a red glow in her ears as she left the hall.

In the apprentice quarters she slipped out of her blue robes and into her nightgown, folding the robes neatly away in her footlocker before sliding into the narrow bunk bed. She shut her eyes, but the squirming, nervous feeling in her chest refused to let her sleep. Her worries for Dana were selfishly eclipsed by thoughts of Cullen. Would he avoid her now? Or worse, report her? It seemed that if she closed her eyes, she could still feel his lips parting against hers.

Some time later she heard the door open and shut and cracking open one eye she saw Dana’s wan features in the torchlight. This was a rare opportunity to talk in complete privacy, but her thoughts were too much in turmoil and she didn't feel like pestering her friend right now. Dana would talk to her when she was ready.

She closed her eyes again and tried to sleep, but her thoughts refused to still. After a time she opened her eyes again. Dana had her back turned and was slipping on her own nightgown, but not before Cat saw the bruises, purple and brown and yellow, marring her pale skin.

_ Maker's breath, what has she done to herself? _

She opened her mouth to say something, but the door opened on another group of apprentices and Dana slid wordlessly beneath the covers, her shoulders hunched and back turned to where Cat lay suddenly sick with dread.

Long after the torches were extinguished and all the apprentices and supervising enchanters had retired, the only sound in the dormitory a chorus of soft snores, she lay awake with her eyes open.

After an age she saw Dana stir and furtively rise from her bed. Clothed in only her nightgown, she padded noiselessly across the floor and slipped out into the corridor.

It was utterly forbidden to be out after curfew, but Catryn recalled Jowan’s words at dinner. What if she was going to do something stupid? After some time her conscience won over self-preservation, and Cat pushed back her own sheets and followed after her friend.

The corridor was thankfully empty of Templars, although this in itself was odd. One at least should be on guard, even at this time of night. The stone floor was cold on her bare feet as she walked, trailing her hand along the curving tower wall. She could hear no sign of Dana, but finally saw the library doors hanging ajar, a crack of light spilling through the gap. She pushed gingerly against the oaken door and it swung silently open on ensorcelled hinges.

The glow of lamplight came from behind a wall of shelves lined with dusty circle tomes. She was aware of a noise now too, rhythmic breathing, the repetitive clank of metal. A patrolling Templar? But the sound was steady, not growing and fading like footsteps should.

_ This is stupid. If you're caught in here you'll be lucky to get away with a caning. _

Still, her feet drew her onwards.

When she rounded the shelves she froze, her gut twisting. Dana was bent forwards over the table, nightgown pushed up around her waist, the side of her face pressed against the wood as her a man bent over her. A Templar, Cat recognised, his steady thrusts punctuated by the chink of his armoured plate. One gauntleted hand gripped Dana’s thigh and the other held the back of her neck, fist twisted in her braid, pinning her against the table. She was utterly silent, her hands flat against the tabletop. The Templar's head hung down, heavy breaths escaping through his nose, short dark curls outlined by the lamplight.

Fury washed over Cat and without thinking, she moved her hands to summon magic. Before it was conjured the spell was doused as if by icy water. He had sensed her, used his abilities to scatter her magic like so many grains of sand.  He pinned her with a dark glare and spoke through gritted teeth. “Don't. Move.” 

As if in a nightmare she stood frozen to the spot, unable even to look away as he dug his fingers deeper into Dana’s pale skin, finishing with a series of ungentle thrusts. He fastened his laces and rearranged the front of his tunic before striding across to where she stood, gripping her chin and tilting her face up to the light.

“Surana, isn't it?” Ser Galloway looked down at her, his kind brown eyes crinkling with his charming smile, breath still ragged with exertion. “And just what the  _ fuck _ do you think you're doing here, apprentice?”

_ You don't have to be scared of them, Keili. _

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He laughed softly, pushed his gauntleted thumb against her lower lip.

“Come to join in the fun? You'll have to wait a while, I'm afraid.” He gestured at Dana, still motionless against the table.

Her voice was a croak. “What did you do to her?”

His eyes creased in amusement. “I'm fairly sure you saw what I did to her. Oh -” he laughed quietly. “You think I what, drugged her? Used some Templar trickery on her? No, she's quite well.” His voice, already soft, dropped to a whisper. “She's just a mage who knows her place.”

He leaned into her until she was backed against the heavy shelves. “You, on the other hand...what you just did could be your death, you knife-eared little bitch.” His tone was casual, his eyes roaming her body. The last time she felt so small she had been a filthy, half-starved child, bristling like a frightened kitten at the city guards surrounding her. This time, she sensed, trying to defend herself would be just as useless as it had been then.

He rested one metal-clad hand on the bookshelf and ran the other dispassionately down her side. “You’ll definitely have to pay for that. Wait...you're wet for Cullen, aren't you?” He smiled again at the cold fury in her face. “I bet he'll be willing to join in, if that helps? I'm sure he'll be happy to share if it gets him a chance to play with those nice tits of yours. We'll get a few of the boys together, make it a party. I think you'll like it.”

“Now.” He spared a glance at Dana. “It's late, and we're all tired. I suggest you take your friend here to bed. And don't breathe a word of this, or I'll run you both through myself. Tell them you were blood mages.”

“You can't!” she blurted. 

He grabbed a fistful of her hair, brought his face close to hers, his skin still glowing with sweat. “I can do whatever I want to you, you mage cunt,” he whispered, and drove a mailed fist into her stomach.

She doubled over, heaving, and heard the clank-clank of his retreating footsteps.

She straightened as best she could and staggered to Dana. She placed a trembling hand on her back and Dana flinched, turned her head slowly and tears stung Cat’s eyes to see the flat, dead look in hers.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's get you back to bed before you're missed.”

 

* * *

 

Dana was gone before she woke the next morning, and later that day she was absent from class. Dread curled cold in the pit of Cat’s stomach. Her absence was noted by the other apprentices as well, and the supervising enchanter hushed them more than once as the day wore on. Jowan murmured when he had the chance, “Do you think it’s her Harrowing?” Cat fervently hoped so, but the tight knot in her chest said otherwise.

She avoided Ser Galloway, was careful never to be outside a group. When she passed the Templar in the hall he gave her his customary smile and wink, and her fingertips itched to engulf him in flame, watch him try to keep that easy smile as the skin melted and fell from his face. The intensity of her hatred frightened her, the knowledge of how ready she had been to kill a man, even such a man as him.

She found herself unable to look at Cullen, although she sensed his confusion as his eyes sought hers only to have her glance away.

_ He'll be happy to share… _

Days later Jowan sought her out in the library. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Cat?” he whispered. “Come with me.” He looked away from the question in her eyes.

He guided her along the curving corridor, upstairs to the stockroom. She found her feet growing heavy as they climbed, her steps faltering. He squeezed her arm in encouragement as they crossed the threshold.

Relief washed over her as she saw Dana arranging items on a shelf, the unmistakeable braid hanging down her back. Then her throat clenched in horror. “Why -” she stumbled, caught on to Jowan for balance. “Why is she wearing those robes?”

She didn't wait for a response but spun on her heel, anger flooding her as she flew blindly through the corridor, finally reaching Senior Enchanter Irving’s office and pounding furiously against the door.

A senior mage strode towards her, an angry rebuke on her lips. Irving’s door swung open and when he looked down at her he silenced the mage with a single raised finger.

“Come in, child.” He gestured past him and closed the door gently behind them.

She fought for dignity, although she wanted to scream, cry, burn the whole tower to the ground. “Dana”, she croaked. “She's...why is she…” She couldn't say it, a wave of nausea overtaking her as the word formed in her throat.

“Please sit.” He indicated a plush chair and she shook her head mutely. He sighed and took his own seat behind the large oaken desk, steepling his fingers in front of him.

He cleared his throat. “Apprentice Amell...requested to be made Tranquil. She knew her Harrowing was approaching, and she was frightened. I did my best to reassure her - she was a talented apprentice, and I believe she would have passed.” He raised his eyes, his face creased in regret. A kind face, she had always thought, but what did that mean any more? Did he know? How could he not know? “We must respect the apprentice’s wishes when it comes to such things.”

“That’s not-” she spat, and caught herself.

“No”, he said sorrowfully, misunderstanding her. “These things are seldom fair.”

The fight drained out of her and she slumped, turned to go.

“Please, child.” Irving rose from his desk. “If you have questions, I would answer them.”

“There's nothing to say,” she said dully. She pulled the giant door open and shut it gently behind her.

The stone walls swam around her and she found herself unable to breathe. She wandered blindly, seeking solitude if such a thing could be found in the close confines of the Tower. She was aware of stairs under her feet, the walls narrowing as she climbed higher, until her fumbling fingers found a door handle and she almost fell into a small storage closet. Shelves crowded with stoppered bottles and strange, arcane objects climbed to the roof. High up, dust swirled in the light of a single barred window.

She closed the door behind her, barely caring if it would open again to let her out. A small desk occupied most of the floor space and she staggered, half crawling, into the farthest corner, curled against the desk. She gagged, but except the dull burn of acid in her throat nothing came up. She wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked silently, mouth open in a scream she couldn't afford to give voice to. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as muffled sobs racked her body.

There was a sharp rap of knuckles on the door and she turned to the wall, shielding her face with an arm. Her breath was loud against the cold stone and she rested a cheek on it, letting it soothe her burning skin.

The knock came again, gentler this time.

“Surana?”

She choked back another sob, wiped a sleeve carelessly across her snot-covered face.

Almost a whisper on the other side of the door. “Catryn?”

Tears overtook her again as the door swung open and she shook noiselessly.

Cullen’s voice came to her as if through a fog. “I - I saw you come in.” He stepped into the room. “Are you all right?”

She didn't answer, couldn't look at him, and a low keening noise escaped her as she rocked, knees drawn up to her chin.

“Maker…” She heard the rasp of steel, the tremor in his voice. “Oh Maker, is...are you... _ possessed _ ?”

Incredulous, she bit back another sob and stared up at him. Her hair was wild around her red and swollen face. She could only imagine her eyes. Right now she couldn't blame him if he thought she was possessed. Fuck, perhaps she was.

She spat the words at him, her voice choked and vision swimming with tears. “LEAVE. ME. BE.”

She turned back to the wall. Let him kill her. Let any of them do anything to her, what could she do to stop them?

There was silence from behind her for the longest time, then the sound of a sword being sheathed, the soft click of the door. Had he left? But no...there was a scuff of metal on stone, then a clatter as he knelt beside her. She stiffened and thrashed as his arms closed around her, gathering her against his plated chest. Finally she went limp and he cradled her, cheek pressed against the top of her head as he rocked her, made small, soothing sounds. He removed his gauntlets and rubbed small circles on her back, ran fingers through her fine blonde hair. 

She gasped and cried, shoulders shaking and he held her close until she was sure the grooves of his armour must be imprinted on her skin. Finally he fished out a huge handkerchief and gently wiped her face. She grabbed it from him and loudly blew her nose, and she felt his lips twitch in a smile against her hair.

The light from the high window was dimming when he kissed her softly on the forehead. “We should go down”, he murmured. “People will talk.”

“Fuck people”, she muttered.

He was silent and she was sure she had scandalised him, then he breathed a soft laugh against her ear. “Indeed. Come on, little Cat. Let’s go.”

He stood and helped her to her feet, her joints protesting. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze questioning. She nodded dumbly and stood as he collected his gauntlets from the floor, then let him lead her out of the closet and back downstairs.

Her bedraggled state drew more than a few stares, but Cullen kept an arm draped around her, smiled reassuringly as he escorted her back to the dormitory. They passed Ser Galloway leaning against the wall and he raised his eyebrows, looking from her face to his. She tensed, dug her nails into her palms. “She's fine”, she heard Cullen say, and Galloway seemed to accept his word, waving them on.

Cullen halted outside the dormitory. “I have to leave you here”, he said. “Unless you want to go up to dinner?”

She shook her head.

“Can I bring you something, um, have someone bring you something from the kitchens?”

“No, thank you.” She cleared her throat, lifted her large grey eyes to meet his. “Thank you, Cullen.”

He blushed and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “I should go,” he said. “I expect I'll have some explaining to do.” He lifted his hand toward her, dropped it back to his side. “Sleep well.”

It wasn't until the door closed behind her that she heard his footsteps retreat down the corridor. Still clothed, she climbed into bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

* * *

 

Jowan found her the next day and she clung to him, both of them crying. Apprentices came and went from the Tower, occasionally reappeared as Tranquil or sometimes vanished altogether. Very rarely they escaped and came back days or weeks later, bruised and cowed, but more often it was assumed they had been taken to the Harrowing and found wanting. Nobody knew quite what that meant, but they knew it was death. But Dana was different. Dana was...had been...family. And to know her shell still walked the Tower was a knife twisting in the wound.

“So...what about you and Ser Curlytop?” he whispered.

“Not the time, Jowan. And no.” He wisely dropped the matter.

Galloway accosted her as she fetched a tome from a remote corner of the library, his frame propped against the shelves enough to block her passage. She forced herself to breathe. He couldn't touch her here, not without drawing notice.

“So”, he said, his tone light and conversational, “you caught up with our friend?” He smirked. “To tell you the truth, she's not much different now - the life went out of that one a while ago.” 

She stilled her face, tried not to let him see her anger as he leaned in closer. “Of course I still fuck her,” he murmured. “But it's not nearly as much fun now.”

_ Breathe, _ she told herself.  _ Don't, don't set him on fire. Breathe. _

He gave her a friendly clap on the shoulder, his voice still too low to be overheard. “Your turn is coming, knife-ear.” She shut her eyes but couldn't block out his next words.

“Cullen is looking forward to it.”

 

* * *

 

Before long she was summoned before Irving and Ser Greagoir, forced to explain her behaviour.

“You’ve always skirted the rules, Surana. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” Greagoir’s cold eyes held hers and she kept her face impassive. “In the past we’ve made allowances for your...background...but we cannot allow apprentice mages, indeed any mages, to run off unsupervised when the whim takes them.” He leaned back in his chair. “I understand you were close to the Amell girl, and now I hope you see there’s a reason why we don’t encourage close ties amongst the mages. How can we trust you to keep your abilities in check if you can’t control your emotions?”

She forced herself to hold his gaze, tried to keep the sullen anger from showing. “I apologise, Knight-Commander. I won’t let it happen again.”  _ Lies. To the Void with them all and their petty rules. _

Cullen was in the library, ever vigilant lest one of the silently reading apprentices should suddenly manifest as an abomination. He caught her eye as she passed him and smiled. “Apprentice Surana, a word?”

She forced a smile in return. “Of course.”

He shifted his feet nervously - he would also be aware of the eyes on them, Circle life providing little in the way of gossip.

“Are you all right?” 

_ No. _ “Yes.”

“She was -” Flustered by her coldness, he nervously scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, she seemed a nice girl, your friend.”

_ Did you share her, Cullen? _

Cat looked him straight in the eyes, paying no heed to the confusion she saw there. “Yes, she was certainly a mage that knew her place,” she murmured. “Excuse me, Ser Cullen.”

_ Cullen is looking forward to it. _

Jowan nudged her as she sat down. “Are you sure you two aren't…?” he whispered. “You're shaking like a leaf.”

She scowled, sat on her hands until the trembling subsided.

As the last apprentices filed out of the library, Cullen waylaid her once more. She kept her eyes on the books in her hands.

“Yes, Ser Cullen?”

“I wondered if we might...I wanted to talk to you.”

“We talked. We're talking.”

He sighed in frustration. “Not like this…in private. Something's wrong. With you.”

_ Yes, I'm a mage. _

His hand rested on her arm, eyes darting about nervously.

“Please”, he said in a conversational tone, no doubt aware that whispering would attract attention. “Find me after the noon bell. By the room in the stairwell. If anyone asks, tell them you’re running an errand for Sweeney.”

She had to smile. Senior Enchanter Sweeney was half-blind and at times his memory wandered - if he couldn’t recall sending her on a task, it was no sure sign she was lying. Who knew the fresh-faced Templar had such a devious streak?

She gave a terse nod and he dropped her arm.

At midday she had half an hour spare between lessons and lunch, and she avoided unseemly haste as she followed the corridor past Irving’s rooms to the stairwell. She found Cullen outside the storage closet door, trying and failing not to look nervous.

He fished out a ring of keys. “It’s usually locked”, he explained. “Otherwise half the Tower would be using it for -” He blushed. “Anyway…” He turned a small key in the lock and pushed the door inward.

She hesitated, wanting to believe the best of him but fearing an ambush. She had successfully avoided Ser Galloway, but what if he had enlisted help, used Cullen as bait to get her alone?  _ Happy to share...looking forward to it… _ ”After you” she said, and after a confused pause he complied.

Her eyes scanned the tiny room as she followed him in. Was he hiding? No, there wasn't enough space. They could be trying to get her guard down before he joined them and the real fun began. Her magic was no use, but she took note of what heavy objects she might use as a weapon.

Cullen leaned against the desk and removed his gauntlets, then started loosening the straps on his pauldrons. He caught her incredulous look and froze, blushing again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t - I mean - It’s very heavy”, he said lamely. She leaned back against the door as he removed his pauldrons and breastplate, which she had to concede did look heavy, and resting them next to his gauntlets. Underneath he wore a quilted tunic.

He spoke first. “Catryn...Cat.” She stood stiff and alert, didn't move from the door. He approached her hesitantly. He brought a trembling hand to her face and she turned her head away. “Please, tell me what's wrong.”

_ The world. Me. You. Everything. _

“I’m so sorry about Amell.”

Her voice was dull. “Dana. Her name was Dana. She was seventeen. She came from across the Waking Sea, but she didn’t remember where. She was happy...funny. She wanted to help against the Blight, join the army or the Grey Wardens if she was allowed. She was the best healer of any of us.” She looked him in the face now, steadily. “She would have passed her Harrowing. She didn’t need to die.”

“But she’s not dead…”

She shoved him angrily, careless of the consequences. “Don’t be a fucking fool, Cullen”, she spat. His eyes widened in shock. “Of course she's dead. What do you think she is? There's nothing of her left. They might as well just throw us out the windows and be done with it! But then who would clean all those shelves?” She laughed mirthlessly and it became a sob. “And he's still - He's still -” She turned away from him, pressed her forehead against the door, shoulders shaking.

She felt him back away. “I’m sorry”, he said softly. “I don’t know what you want me to do. What can I do?”

She spoke into the door. “Do what you want”, she said. “Your kind always do.”

After a time he leaned to look in her face, his expression pained. “Do you mean...has someone hurt you?”

She made a noise of disgust. “Keep up Cullen. Not me. Not like that, anyway.”

“But Amell...Dana…” Horror dawned in his eyes, quickly joined by anger.  _ “Who?” _

“Maker,” she murmured, “does it even matter?”

“It matters to me”, he growled. “You should be safe here. You should  _ all  _ be safe.”

“Galloway.”

He groaned, ran agonised hands down his face. “I’m sorry Cat. I’m so, so sorry.” He leaned against the wall, head in his hands. “He was transferred from Kirkwall...we didn't know why, but there were rumours. I should have warned you. He should not have been allowed…” He punched the door and she cowered.

Instantly contrite, he backed up to the desk and sat. He held out his hands and she took them. He squeezed them lightly and looked softly into her face. “I wouldn’t hurt you. I would never.”

She looked him in the eyes. “You can’t promise that.” His mouth opened in denial, but she shook her head. “You can’t.” She freed a hand and ran it down his cheek. Maker, she was comforting him now? She stared into his eyes, contemplating the absurdity that was her life.

The silence stretched out between them, until she stepped closer and cautiously kissed his lips. Tentatively he circled her waist with his hands and drew her closer, returning her kiss with exaggerated gentleness.

She parted her lips and he followed suit. A hand tangled in the soft hair at the base of her neck. They paused, drew apart before pressing their lips together a second time. Her hands rested on his shoulders and she took his lower lip between hers, then opened her mouth to his questing tongue.

She was overwhelmed by the closeness of him, the unfamiliar privacy of the tiny room. She needed to cling to this tiny spark of rebellion, of  _ life.  _ Her hand snaked around the back of his neck, drew him closer, and she leant in to his lips as he gently traced them along the soft skin of her neck. When her breasts brushed lightly against his chest he pulled her closer, his moan vibrating against her skin.

He pulled back. “Is this...are you...I don't mean to take advantage.” She answered him with a lingering kiss, one hand tugging at his knee until he parted his legs to let her move in closer, their hips meeting through layers of fabric and leather. His hand closed over her breast beneath the woollen robe and suddenly she needed him touching her, to feel his skin against hers. She untied the stays at the back of her robe and loosened it enough for his searching hand to slide beneath her neckline and inside the cotton shift underneath. He leaned his forehead against hers as he cupped her in his hand, softly squeezed and smiled at her intake of breath. His fingers brushed her nipple and she felt a jolt like electricity run through her at his touch, a rush of dampness between her thighs.

Reluctantly, slowly, they untangled. “Alright then. Back to life, such as it is.” She stepped back and rearranged her disordered robes. She paused at the door. “What about Galloway?”

A shadow passed over his face. “I don't know. But for now, I'll do what I can to see he doesn't patrol alone. He’s my senior, but if I can sow doubt...”

“Dana. She has bruises.”

  
He closed his eyes, pained. “I’ll see what I can do.” He took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Cat”, he whispered, and her heart surged at the softness in his voice.


	2. Bound in Blood and Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a Harrowing, some blood magic and quite a bit of smut.

They came for her in the night.

Waking to find the Templars by her bed she was at first gripped by terror. She readied to defend herself, certain her worst fears had come to life and she was to be dragged upstairs, beaten, bent over the table. Or had she and Cullen been discovered? Was he safe?

Eyes adjusting to the dim light, she realised Cullen was here, his comforting hand on her shoulder and a finger to his lips. He bent and rummaged in her footlocker before handing her her robes, and understanding dawned.

_Harrowing._

Still groggy with sleep, she dressed and let them lead her through the halls, Cullen holding her arm lightly as they climbed interminable stairs to the Harrowing chamber. She barely registered Knight-Commander Greagoir’s words, trying to focus when she realised the Grand Enchanter was explaining the task ahead of her.

 _You want me to fight a demon in the Fade? A demon you_ summoned _? What the_ fuck _is wrong with you people?_

But those were not the words she heard herself speak as they directed her to the font of lyrium.

“I am ready.”

 

* * *

 

The day after their meeting in the stairwell cupboard Cullen’s duties kept him busy, and when they passed each other in the halls they both strove to act naturally, although Cat felt her ears must be glowing like a beacon to all around them. Finally she came across him standing guard outside Irving’s rooms, the corridor empty but for a Tranquil single-mindedly scrubbing the floors.

“Tonight?” he mouthed, eyes flickering towards the stairwell. She nodded and hurried on her task, struggling to contain the delighted smile that had broken out on her face.

Much later, when the steady breathing of the apprentices suggested all were sleeping, she slipped from the dormitory. The night air was frigid, the stone painfully cold on her bare feet. Templars were patrolling but she skirted them easily - lessons learned on the streets of Denerim were not easily forgotten, and she could still move silent and unseen when the need arose.

She reached the door in the stairwell, heart pounding from the climb and something more. She tapped softly against the wood, and a moment later the door opened.

As soon as it closed behind her, Cullen fell on her, his hands warm on her waist and tongue seeking hers, pressing her against the door. He was unarmoured, dressed only in a rough nightshirt and leggings. When his hips brushed hers she felt a hard pressure against her belly, and she broke the kiss to look into his face. The lamplight cast a warm glow on his skin and his eyes burned with an intensity that frightened her.

Sensing her trepidation he backed away, perching on the edge of the desk. She felt naked before his eyes, her chilled nipples clearly visible through her nightgown and her body shivering with more than cold. He reached for her and she took his hand, allowed him to draw her against his warm chest and rub her upper arms with his big hands. His fingers gripped her and she met his mouth again, their lips and tongues dancing and teasing against each other. Then she moaned as his lips found her neck, soft breath tickling her skin.

Barely in control of her own body, she nudged her hips against him, feeling again the evidence of his arousal. He moaned and kissed her neck wetly, a hand fumbling at her thigh and working the fabric of her nightgown upwards. He found the hem of her gown and his hand slid up her thighs, a gasp escaping her as his fingers brushed between her legs.

Encouraged, he pressed a long finger inside her and she tensed with a sharp intake of breath. He withdrew, eyes searching her face. “I’m sorry, did - did I hurt you?” His voice was husky with need, but there was concern in his eyes.

She nodded slightly. “Just...slowly.”

He kept his eyes trained on her face as he traced his fingers back up the soft skin of her thighs, this time running his fingertip gently along the length of her, and she exhaled slowly. “Yes,” she whispered, “that’s good.” He stroked her, eyes widening as he felt her becoming wet under his fingers, now sliding smoothly between her folds. He found a button of flesh and pressed against it, bringing another sharp hiss of breath.

“Oh Maker. I hurt you again?”

She shook her head, lips pressed tightly together. “No. Just - oh - it feels...too much.”

He took her by the waist and gently turned her so her back was against his chest, his lips nuzzling her neck. One arm encircled her waist while his hand gathered the front of her nightgown and in a moment his fingers were again dancing between her legs. He let her reactions guide him, responding when he felt her press towards his hand, sensitive to the changes in her breathing. He circled her entrance and softly pressed his middle finger into her, only as far as the first knuckle before withdrawing, then again. Her breath trembled and her eyes closed, relaxing in his embrace.

He eased a second fingertip inside her, let her adjust to the new pressure before pushing slowly in and out. She parted her legs further and he let his finger slide all the way in again, but this time she was wet and welcoming. He crooked his finger and she moaned and twitched. His hand moved from around her waist and held her breast, rubbing at her erect nipple through the scant fabric. His hand between her legs moved quicker now until he was pulsing fast against her, and with a thin wail she spasmed beneath him, breathing in shallow gasps. Another thrust of his hand and she was hit by a second wave, sensation flooding through her until her limbs felt heavy, her breath now slow and ragged.

He kissed her neck below her ear and took his hand away, turning her to face him. Her face was flushed and her eyelids heavy, her lips slightly parted as she brought her breathing under control.

“Was that all right?” he asked, hands softly rubbing her waist.

She laughed huskily. “Yes, Cullen. That was all right.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, nudging her breasts against him. WIth a low moan he broke free, standing and pulling his nightshirt over his head before effortlessly picking her up by the waist and sitting her on the desk. She ran a hand over the hard planes of his chest, the sparse, fair hair, and smiled as her thumb brushed his nipple and brought his eyes closed. When he opened them again, it was with an unspoken question. She nodded mutely.

His hands worked at the ties of her nightgown, loosening the neck and pushing it down over her shoulders until it was bundled around her waist. His intense gaze travelled her slight body, his large hands cupping and kneading her firm breasts and she arched into his touch, her head falling back. He traced his lips and tongue along the soft skin of her throat and she moaned gently.

He released her to work at the ties of his own leggings, shedding them on the floor. Her heart pounded at the evidence of his desire, some part of her mind suddenly nervous about his human proportions inside her small elven body. But the part that was in control found her leaning back on the desk, her knees edging farther apart.

He gently nudged her thighs open, hands gathering up the fabric at her waist, and they shifted their hips in an attempt to align better. He kissed her mouth and pressed his hips forward, his cock bumping uncomfortably into her thigh. He pulled back and frowned in frustration.

“Use your hands,” she whispered.

“My hands?” He was confused. “I just...did.”

She laughed softly. “No, like this…” He groaned as her small hand closed around his shaft and she shuffled closer to the the edge of the desk, maneuvering him between her thighs. She bit her lip in concentration as she tilted her hips slightly, and her eyes closed as the end of him found her, his tip sliding into her entrance. Still grasping the base of his cock, she pulled him towards her, felt a momentary pain and heard his satisfied groan as he entered her, his width filling her. After a few seconds she guided him nearly all the way out, then gently back in, the ache deep within her fading to the background as a tingling warmth grew below her belly. She took her hand away and grasped his shoulders, rocking her hips so he came to rest all the way inside her, his moan this time joined by hers.

He kissed her hungrily, slid his mouth over her jaw and neck until his face rested against her collarbone, hands splayed on the small of her back as he moved slowly out and quickly back in. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he rocked her against him, soft cries escaping her lips as he drove himself into her body.  Soon, too soon, his thrusts became erratic until he bucked against her with a cry, his movements jerking and slowing until he collapsed against her neck, both their chests heaving.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, “I couldn’t hold on.” Reluctantly he slid from her and she felt a warm trickle on her thighs.

She took his face in her hands and kissed his brow. “It’s fine, Cullen.” She smiled and smoothed his frown with a small thumb. “We just need practice.”

His lips twitched in a smile, mischief in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

_Someone else, thrown to the wolves..._

 

_You don't want to lose yourself here. Being nothing would be easier than this..._

 

_You shall be mine, body and soul._

  


Murmured voices invaded her consciousness.

“Did you hear anything? Is she alright, is she awake?” Her eyes fluttered open, the bunk’s wooden slats blurring before her eyes. “That Templar, Cullen, says it’s the quickest Harrowing he’s ever seen! He says she’s very talented, and very brave.”

“Well he would, wouldn’t he?”

A closer voice. “Are you alright? Say something, please!”

Her eyes fluttered open. She lay on her bed, clothed, the covers tucked in beneath her.

“Jowan?”

He stood above her, his face etched with concern. “I’m glad you’re alright. They carried you in this morning.” He was babbling, his voice almost a squeak. “I didn’t even realise you’d been gone all night. What was it like?”

She sat up, feeling her mouth parched, throat dry. “It was...harrowing.”

He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

“Patience. You’ll go through it soon enough.”

He helped her to her feet where for a moment she rocked unsteadily, legs threatening to buckle.

“And now you get to use the nice mages’ quarters upstairs”, he grumbled. “I’m stuck here and I don’t know when they’ll call me for my Harrowing.”

“Any day now, probably.” Her head still swimming, she accepted the mug of water he pressed into her hand and drank deeply.

“I’ve been here longer than you have.” She looked up at the edge of panic in his voice. “Sometimes I think they just don’t want to test me.”

“Maybe you’re just not ready yet.”

He paced, running his fingers through his hair nervously, beginning to babble again. “I’ve been ready for a long time. I’m afraid they don’t want me to take the test. You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility...or you die. That’s what happens.”

A knot twisted in her stomach at the mention of Tranquility. “They’re not going to kill you, Jowan.”

“They might not, but the Rite of Tranquility is just as bad, maybe worse.”

“Don’t you have to volunteer for that?”

“No! The circle also forces tranquility on those they think are weak, and sometimes they force it upon apprentices they think would be too dangerous as mages.”

“Well I hardly think that describes you.” She interrupted his pacing to wrap her arms around him in a hug, holding him tightly until he sighed and broke free, holding her at arms’ length.

“I should go. Enchanter Irving wants to speak to you when you’re awake. Which you seem to be.” She watched him leave, his shoulders slumped.

 _Please let his Harrowing be soon,_ she thought, _before this place breaks him, too._

 

* * *

  


_The real dangers of the fade are preconceptions, careless trust, pride._

_Keep your wits about you, mage...true tests never end._

 

* * *

 

“The Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi.”

Temper flared in her at Irving’s words, and unwisely she blurted, “That’s it? After throwing me to the wolves?” The Grey Warden next to him raised his eyebrows, and Irving shook his head, unflappable.

“We’ve all been through it, child.”

 _Cheap words,_ she wanted to retort. _All of us but the Tranquil, and the dead._ This time she bit her tongue, stared sullenly at the stack of books on Irving’s desk. Did the Knight-Commander know Irving took such a keen interest in blood magic?

“I present you with your robes, your staff, and a ring bearing the Circle’s insignia. Wear them proudly, for you have earned this.”

She made little attempt to hide her ingratitude as she took the proffered bundle. “What happens now?”

“Patience, child. You have been through an ordeal. Let us not rush things. Take your time to rest, or study in the library. The day is yours.”

Aware she was pushing the boundaries of insolence, she asked a question she knew the answer to. “Can I leave the Tower?”

He refused to take the bait. “Not yet. Remember, the Tower’s walls protect us as much as they protect others from us.”

She smiled sourly. _What out there could be more dangerous than the monsters that stalk these halls?_

 

She showed the Grey Warden to his room before seeking out Cullen at his post outside the mage’s quarters. A glance inside showed large, well-appointed beds, wooden tubs for bathing, a semblance of privacy around each room maintained by tall, heavy bookshelves. One of these would be her new quarters, she realised.

She approached Cullen, who seemed oddly reluctant to meet her eyes.

“Oh, um...ah, hello.” He glanced at her and quickly away. “I’m glad to see your harrowing went smoothly.”

She smiled up at him. “Why are you stuttering?”

He blushed. “What? I’m fine. I, uh I’m just glad you’re all right. You know.” He cleared his throat and when he spoke again his voice was hoarse. “They picked me as the Templar to strike the killing blow if you became an abomination.” Flustered, his words came out in a rush. “It’s nothing personal, I swear!”

Her heart broke for him then, and if she could she would have taken him in her arms, told him it was all right, she understood. They had known it was a possibility but in the brief moments they could steal together, he was reluctant to talk about such things.

“Would you really have struck me down?” she asked softly, knowing the answer.

For a moment, grief twisted his face. “I would have felt terrible about it. But...but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded.”

She nodded, risked a touch on his arm to show that she bore him no ill will. “I shouldn’t distract you from your duties”, she said softly.

She was relieved to see him smile. “Oh you’re not distracting. I mean you are, but...well, you’re not. I mean you can talk to me any time, if you want.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Ah yes, maybe we can talk another time.”

She smiled over her shoulder as she walked away.

 

* * *

 

In the weeks before her Harrowing they stole what time they could, careful not to risk all with indiscretion. Often it was no more than the brush of a hand, a quick press of their bodies in an alcove, stolen kisses in dark corners of the library. Their times in the room by the stairs were far too few and at times she would steal away only to find the door locked, darkness within. Fear gripped her heart in those moments, a dread certainty that he had been caught, and she knew his fears for her would be worse on those nights when she failed to slip away.

When they did find themselves alone together they clung to each other as if drowning, skin pressed tightly together as their hands and mouths explored each other.  They became familiar with each other’s bodies, fitting together like puzzle pieces, stifled gasps and groans echoing in the tiny stone room as they fucked desperately against the desk, the wall, their first clumsy attempt forgotten as her legs locked around his hips and he thrust against her again and again and again.

“Maker, what I wouldn’t give for a bed”, she whispered one night, and at their next meeting he took her hand and led her silently through the halls until they paused in front of heavy doors set in the wall of the senior enchanters’ library. Carefully, quietly, he found one key on the massive ring and with a click the door swung open, a surprisingly warm breeze coming from within.

The door closed behind them and he fumbled, swearing, until the warm flicker of a lamp danced on the rocky walls of a cavern, the floor littered with crates and bulky chests. She realised it was the area where magical supplies were stored, lyrium and other potent substances, the tunnels winding down to caves at the very base of the Tower. Taking her hand he led her around the detritus on the cavern floor, until a curve in the wall revealed an alcove with a bare patch of ground. Here he spread his cloak out before turning to her with a wry smile.

“I’m sorry it’s not a bed”, he murmured.

She knelt on the unfurled cloak and drew him down beside her. “It’s perfect”, she said.

 

* * *

 

“Blessed art thou who exists in the sight of the Maker,

Blessed are the penitents who seek his return,

Blessed is the prophetess, purified by flame,

May our chant reach the Maker’s ears and tell him of our contrition.”

Keili rocked gently on one knee as she prayed before the candlelit altar, her dark head bowed in supplication.

Hearing the rustle of Cat’s robe behind her, she stood and smiled unsteadily, an expression almost like guilt flickering across her face. “I recite the Maker’s blessings every day”, she said, too brightly. “It brings me peace in troubled times.”

Cat looked around for Jowan - he had wanted to meet her here of all places, Maker knew why. “I wish I could find comfort in such things.”

Keili’s voice was earnest. “It gives me hope that one day the Maker will hear us. That maybe I’ll be forgiven, and my curse will be lifted.”

Cat frowned. “Curse?”

“Magic. What else?”

“Magic isn’t a curse”, Cat replied, wishing she believed it.

Keili pursed her lips, shook her head violently. “Magic causes such misery. It’s dangerous and vile and wicked. The chantry must protect the world from us. Being born with something so terrible must be a punishment.” She rubbed at the sleeve of her robe, the cuff riding up to reveal black and yellow bruising on her wrist. “I wish I could be rid of it.”

Cat stared at her abused skin in horror, and Keili followed her gaze, pulling the sleeve sharply down over her wrist.

“Keili…”

The three of them laughing, teasing, flirting. _You don’t have to be scared of them, Keili._

The girl backed away, her voice trembling. “Perhaps this is just something I will have to suffer through.” Her eyes darted around and she swallowed convulsively. “I should go. Our mentor only allows a few minutes each day for religious contemplation.”

“Wait, Keili”, she said, but Keili fled even as Cat stared after her, sorrow and anger roiling in her gut.

_The Tower’s walls protect us..._

She wheeled on Jowan as his hand touched her shoulder and he stepped back, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Next to him was a dark-haired human girl dressed in Chantry robes.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

She squeezed her eyes shut, guilt overwhelming her. She should have said something. Told someone, Irving or even Greagoir. She had been selfish, unwilling to draw attention to herself and risk exposing her own crimes. She had let a predator loose in the halls and he had acted predictably, still taking out his brutal urges on the mages he was tasked to protect.

 _But would they have believed you? Would anything change, even if they did?_ With all her magic, she was still powerless.

Resigned, she shook her head and followed Jowan to a discreet corner of the Chantry, the other girl with them. The Chantry was empty but for the three of them.

“We should be safe here.” He rubbed his hands together nervously.

Cat looked to the stranger and back to Jowan. “You realise there’s a priest standing right here?”

The girl smiled. “Not a priest, I am merely an initiate. My congratulations on passing your Harrowing.”

“Oh...thanks, I guess. Jowan...what’s going on?”

The two looked at each other and blushed. “A few months ago I told you that I’d met a girl. This is Lily.”

 _A fucking Chantry initiate? Maker’s breath Jowan, you fool._ She recognised her hypocrisy and forced a smile. “My condolences, Lily.”

Jowan glowered. “Very funny.”

“So what is this all about?”

The walls closed in around her as they explained the Chantry’s plans to make Jowan tranquil, the suspicion of blood magic, the eyewitness statement. If it was a Templar, all hope was lost - they would never believe the word of a mage over that of a Templar. She thought of Ser Galloway and ice ran in her blood. Was this her doing? Her punishment?

“They’ll take everything that I am from me. My dreams, hopes, fears...my love for Lily. All gone…”

She thought of Dana, the dead voice and flat eyes of the Tranquil.

“It’s going to be all right”, she said numbly.

“No it won’t!” he cried. “They’re going to destroy me!” She could only look at him, fear in her heart.

They had a plan, he said. Escape. She put a hand over her eyes, shook her head. “Nobody escapes.”

He said stubbornly, “Anders did.”

She rounded on him furiously. “Yes. Anders did. And then what happened?” She paused and he had the good grace to look embarrassed. For Lily’s benefit, she said slowly, “They found him. They dragged him back here. They beat. The shit. Out. Of. Him.” The initiate’s face had gone lily white. “And if they think you’re a blood mage, they’ll do worse to you. You’ll never make it back alive.”

She considered relating a story the Grey Warden Duncan had told her that day, one that ended with an apostate blood mage’s head being cleaved in two by a Templar sword. Glancing at Lily, she thought better of it.

Jowan’s voice was fierce. “They won’t find me! We’ll destroy my phylactery.”

Numbly, she listened as they detailed their plan. Dread sank into her limbs. _This is never going to work. We’ll be caught. Imprisoned. Tranquil or worse._ But thinking of Dana, she couldn’t picture worse.

_This is my mistake. I have to fix this._

She heard Lily beg for her help, heard her own voice as if from far away, spoken by a stranger.

“You have my word, Lily.”

 

Seeking Owain in the stockroom, Cat came across a dark-haired tranquil carrying a stack of papers.

“Hello, Dana,” she said. It was the first time she had spoken to her friend since that night in the library.

The girl looked at her impassively.

“I passed my Harrowing”, Cat said. She waggled her fingers. "Look, they gave me this shiny ring! And new robes. So it's all worth it, you see." Getting no reaction, she searched around for a topic of conversation. “There’s a Grey Warden here. He’s looking for mages to help against the Blight. Some have already gone to Ostagar.”

Dana had dreamed of the army or even better the Wardens, a chance at seeing the world beyond the Tower again, to see something more than these stone walls and the other side of the lake, far in the distance. Now she stared through Catryn, blank-faced.

“Is there something you need?” Her voice was toneless. “You must speak to Owain.”

Angrily, Cat dashed a tear away with the back of her wrist. If Jowan’s plan ended how she thought it might, this was the last time she would see her friend. Perhaps they’d be Tranquil together. What a blessing it was to be a mage, to be under the tender protection of the Chantry.

She placed her hand on Dana’s and the other girl looked at it incuriously. “Goodbye, Dana.”

 

* * *

 

Kneeling on the spread cloak, they divested themselves of clothes and he lay her down on the hard ground, kisses trailing from her mouth to her jaw, her neck, both breasts, the ticklish skin of her belly. She shivered as he parted her legs and ran his warm tongue along her slit, whimpered as his mouth teased at her tingling flesh until she came, clawing at the folds of his cloak, softly crying his name.

He took her slowly then, the unfamiliar position allowing them time to pause, to push gently and withdraw, hands freed to run over each others’ sweat-slicked bodies. He took his time exploring her breasts, his calloused hands stroking and kneading, taking each nipple gently between his tongue and teeth.

She pushed his shoulder and he rolled onto his back, and straddling his waist she lowered herself gently onto him, breathing a sigh of relief as he filled her again. He moaned as she rolled her hips against him, bringing him to the brink of release. He grasped her hip with one hand, the other wrapping around her thigh as his thumb teased between her legs and they came in unison, he bucking under her as she groaned and gasped, her hands clutching at his own. The cavern was silent but for their ragged breathing as he sat up, his length still filling her, cradling her against his chest.

“You are so perfect”, he murmured. “How could anything so perfect have given herself to me?”

She smiled at him, immeasurable sadness in her eyes. “Oh Cullen.” She stroked his stubbled cheek, smoothed damp curls back from his forehead. “I will do this for as long as we are able. Forever, if we were different people, if this was the real world and not this blighted Tower. But I can’t give myself to you, not in the way we want. I’m not mine to give.”

She cradled him against her and they rocked gently, and she felt his hot tears spill on her breasts even as hers ran down her cheeks.

 

* * *

 

Her mouth tasted of ashes. Things had turned bad so fast, so much worse than she had pictured.

_Jowan, oh Jowan, why?_

Lily’s face was grey, her eyes cast downward. She was broken as much by her shattered illusions as Greagoir’s judgement, that she be imprisoned in the Aeonar, far to the north. Her lover was fled, revealed as a blood mage after all.

And Cat herself was to be imprisoned here, no doubt soon to be made Tranquil. Her eyes caught Ser Galloway’s and he smirked, threw her a wink. He had plans for her. If she was lucky, she’d be Tranquil before he carried them out.

Suddenly, shockingly, the Warden offered a ray of hope. Conscription? Dumbly she stared at the men surrounding her, Greagoir’s face dark with fury as he sensed her slipping from his grasp. It was a lifeline, a way out of the hell she found herself trapped in, a way out of the Tower!

But Cullen...oh, Cullen. She needed to talk to him, to see his face, to reassure him that she’d be all right, that she’d come back if she could, perhaps if she was a Warden there might be a chance one day to build a life together! She wasn’t involved in blood magic, she needed to explain, to justify her actions.

But Cullen wasn’t here.

She looked at Duncan, the question in his piercing dark eyes.

“Very well. I will go with you.”

 

* * *

 

 

They dressed quickly in the dark, the small lamp guttering. He rolled up his cloak and led her back through the cavern.

They paused by the door and he looked down at their held hands.

"My Harrowing should be soon", she murmured. "Can I ask you something?"

He shrugged uncomfortably, but nodded.

"I heard demons are involved - no, don't ask me who told. Is it...obvious? When someone has failed? I mean, you can tell an abomination from a regular person, can't you?"

He shuddered. "Oh yes."

"But if I take too long, I might also fail?" He squirmed. Such matters were forbidden to initiates, she knew, but she pressed ahead. "If I take too long, you might cut me down?"

He gripped her face, eyes boring into hers. "No", he growled. "You will not fail. I will wait for you. As long as it takes."

The choice might not be his, she knew.

"Cat", he whispered. "I know we can't make promises. I know we are bound by rules not of our own making. But I'm yours. As much as I can be, I'm yours. Always."


	3. Broken Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter: In which Cat returns to the Circle and feels are felt. Angst smut warnings apply.

A glowing cage surrounded him, the air faintly crackling with magic. He was bowed, broken, his shoulders slumped as he knelt on the hard stone floor. But his panicked voice held a note of anger as he cried “Stop! Who goes there?” He raised his face and her heart twisted at the weariness, the sorrow she saw there.

“It’s me, Cullen. It’s Cat.”

_I have returned to you. I have crossed rivers and forests, climbed mountains, walked until my feet bled. I have fought dragons, slain wolves and monsters and more men than I can count. I have cut a path through untold horrors, I have battled until my muscles screamed, I have lain broken and bleeding and spent and even when my mind and body begged me to surrender, I have survived, only to look upon your face again._

But she had arrived too late, to find the Circle fallen, demons and abominations stalking the halls of her childhood, countless of those she had called her friends slain or possessed, twisted and corrupted by demons. Such horrors seemed to stalk her footsteps of late, her presence constantly heralded by death and chaos. She was weary, so weary of fighting.

And this day, panic had consumed her as they climbed ever higher, the tower walls now pulsing with some vile tissue and more death and horror around every corner, seeking him yet frightened of what she might find.

His eyes now flared with rage.

“This trick again?” His voice shook with fury. “I know what you are. It won’t work. I will stay strong…”

Her hand stretched toward the barrier. “Cullen! Don’t you recognise me?”

He gritted his teeth. “Only too well...how far they must have delved into my thoughts.”

“The boy is exhausted," Wynne murmured. “And this cage...I’ve never seen anything like it.” She turned to Cullen, her voice soothing. “Rest easy. Help is here.”

“Enough visions," the templar cried. “If anything in you is human, kill me now and stop this game.”

“He’s delirious," Leliana said, compassion in her lilting voice. “He’s been tortured...and has probably been denied food and water. I can tell.” She reached to her waist. “Here, I have a skin of - ”

Cullen recoiled. “Don’t touch me! Stay away! Sifting through my thoughts...tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have.” His haunted eyes locked on Cat, accusing. She blushed and avoided Wynne’s questioning stare. “Using my shame against me...my ill-advised infatuation with her...a mage, of all things.” At his words a cold weight seemed to settle on her chest. “I am so tired of these cruel jokes...these tricks...these…”

She cried in desparation, “This is no trick! We’re here to help.”

He would not meet her eyes. “Silence...I’ll not listen to anything you say. Now begone!” He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

The moment stretched out as her companions shuffled, embarrassed. After an age, Cullen looked up with red-rimmed eyes, his brow knit with confusion.

“Still here? But that’s always worked before.” He stared at them each in turn, his tortured gaze finally resting on her face. “I close my eyes,” he murmured hoarsely, “but you are still here when I open them.”

She longed to reach for him, to comfort him. “I’m real, and I’m here to help you.” He shook his head, denying her words, denying _her_. “Please, Cullen...don’t say such things.”

“I am beyond caring what you think," he spat. “The Maker knows my sin, and I pray that he will forgive me.”

Each word was a knife in her gut. She hesitated, whispered, “Why does it cause you so much pain?”

Cullen looked away from the hurt in her eyes. “You are a mage and I, a templar. It is my duty to oppose you and all you are.”

She couldn’t breathe. She had been hopelessly foolish, naive. To think he would still care for her after her disgrace, her departure, all these long months of absence. How he must have nursed his anger at her betrayal, and then his worst suspicions about the mages had been brought to life. Dark magic had been at work within the Circle, corrupting his friends and tormenting his mind.

 _I will wait for you._ His words, out of context, held against her chest like a flickering flame, kindling foolish, false hope within her.

He watched her now, his voice cold. “Why have you returned to the tower? How did you survive?”

“Is it so surprising that I’ve returned?” she said softly. “This was my home.” _You were my home._

He snorted derisively. “As it was mine. And look what they’ve done to it.” His eyes took in the filth coating the walls, the streaks of dried blood on the floor. “They deserve to die. Uldred most of all.” His eyes hardened, boring into her. “Kill Uldred. Kill them all for what they’ve done. They caged us like animals...looked for ways to break us.” His voice cracked. “I’m the only one left. They turned some into...monsters.” His eyes closed with the pain of remembrance. “And...there was nothing I could do.”

She clutched her staff, knuckles white. Uldred would pay for the destruction he had wrought, on her home and her family, and on the soul of the broken man before her. She must act now. “Where are the others?” she asked.

“What others?” he said, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred," said Wynne. “Where are they?”

Cullen looked towards the stairs, his expression pained. “They are in the Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming out from there...oh, Maker…”

Wynne looked to her. “We must hurry. They are in grave danger, I am sure of it.”

“You can’t save them!” Cullen cried. “You don’t know what they’ve become!”

Cat stared at him, incredulous. “We can’t just kill them all!”

The templar’s voice trembled with a note of hysteria. “They’ve been surrounded by blood mages, whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts!”

Beside her, Alistair shook his head. “His hatred of mages is so intense...the memory of his friends’ deaths is still fresh in his mind.” He saw the pain flicker on her face and placed an apologetic hand on her arm.

Cullen struggled to his feet. “You have to end it now, before it’s too late.”

She turned on him, her sick despair giving way to anger. “What do you propose we do?” she hissed. “I will not kill an innocent.”

His previous hysteria was replaced by a steely conviction. “To ensure this horror is ended...to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there.”

She dismissed this with a terse shake of her head. “I cannot decide on that before seeing what’s going on.”

“Thank you," Wynne said. “I knew you would make a rational decision.”

“Rational? How is this rational?” Cullen was furious. “Do you understand the danger?”

The elder mage remained calm. “I know full well the dangers of magic, but killing innocents because they might be maleficarum is not justice. I know you are angry - ”

“You know nothing! I am thinking about the future of the Circle. Of Ferelden.”

Cat raised a hand to silence them both. “I do not want the blood of innocents on my hands.”

His voice burned with scorn. “I am just willing to see the painful truth, which you are content to ignore.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before looking him in the eyes. “Stay safe," she said. “It will be over soon.”

Cullen turned away from her, disappointed, defeated. “Maker turn his gaze on you”, he muttered, his hands clenched at his sides. “I hope your compassion hasn’t doomed us all.”

 

* * *

 

  
She lay awake, eyes fixed on the fire as the logs crackled and hissed. After so long sleeping on a thin bedroll the big bed felt alien, the soft mattress an indulgence that was almost sinful.

The blood mages were dead, the circle restored if severely depleted, and the surviving mages pledged to assist against the blight. Tomorrow they would start for Redcliffe, but for tonight she was afforded the privilege of a room in the guest quarters, relatively untouched by the horrors that had beset the upper levels of the tower.

The soft sheets were cool on her skin, still warm from the bathtub. She had bathed once to remove the grime of travel and the filth of the day's work, then had tentatively asked if the tub might be refilled. To her surprise, her request had been granted. For all Greagoir’s bluster and Cullen’s grim disapproval, her actions today had saved the Circle, and their gratitude seemed to extend to small luxuries. She had soaked in the hot water until her face was flushed, scrubbing at her skin until it glowed, as if she could clean the stains from her very soul.

She was tired, so tired, but her unquiet mind would not allow her to sleep.

She started as she heard a tap on the door, barely more than a scratch. She was dressed only in her smallclothes, her robes having been taken away for laundering with the promise they would be returned in the morning. Reluctantly she extracted herself from the sheets and padded on light feet to the door.

“Who is it?” she asked softly. There was no reply.

She cracked open the door and stepped aside as Cullen slipped into the room, bringing the door closed behind him. He was dressed in a light Templar tunic, his curly hair damp, and he smelled faintly of soap and leather.

The room was lit only by the glow of the fire and his face was inscrutable in the semi-darkness. She was grateful for the shadows, self-conscious in her partially-clothed state although she knew he'd seen more of her than this before. Her time on the road had left her lean and her body was toned from wielding a heavy staff, the sustained casting of combat spells requiring a surprising degree of athleticism. She couldn't help wondering if the change would please him, as he silently appraised her.

She cleared her throat, needing to break the silence. “We should talk…”

“No.” His voice was low, soft but forceful. He stepped towards her and she willed herself to stand still as he loomed over her. His hands encircled her waist and her eyes closed, relief and desire flooding through her.

His lips came down hard on hers, his fingers tangling in her hair as his other hand ran down her back and over her smallclothes, pushed between her legs. His mouth was hot, hungry, his tongue thrusting into her as his hands crushed her against him, forcing her up onto her toes.

His hands moved to fumble at her breastband, untying the knot and loosening the swathe of fabric until it slipped down over her waist and puddled on the floor. He turned her then, using one hand to squeeze roughly at her breast as the other slipped between her legs, grinding against her through her smallclothes. She moaned as his fingers pinched her nipple, his teeth biting at her neck.

Still silent, he released her and pushed her back onto the bed. He paused to look down at her, then deftly removed his own clothes, casting his tunic and leggings to the floor before crushing her beneath him, his mouth covering hers in a bruising kiss as he parted her legs with his knee. He clawed at her bared breasts, bit roughly at her nipples and she cried out in concern, “Cullen?”

“Shh.” He looked into her face. “Do you want this?”

_Yes. Maker, yes._

She nodded, eyes wide.

He knelt and tugged at her smallclothes, pulling them down and tossing them on the floor, and just as quickly he had her knees pushed up and apart and his mouth was buried between her legs. There was no tenderness this time, his lips and tongue pushing at her, sucking, feasting like a beast at the kill. His mouth closed on her clit and he thrust his fingers deep inside her, twisting them as she writhed under him, incoherent words falling from her lips, his gasped name mangled as she struggled to hold on to reason. The fibres of her being pulled, stretched then snapped as she came apart, sobbing, fingers clutched in his hair.

He leant over her now and angrily wiped his face with the back of his arm, eyes narrowed as he watched the rise and fall of her chest in the firelight.

She lay still as he removed his smallclothes then stretched out above her, the faint taste of her cunt on his tongue as his mouth sought hers. His fingers parted her folds and unceremoniously he buried himself inside her, and she felt him trembling before he pulled back, thrust, repeated.

She lay not quite motionless as he rested his weight on his forearms and plunged his length inside her, urged on by the slight rocking of her hips against his, her hand resting on his cheek. With each thrust she felt his pain, his torment, his anger, and she took it inside herself, drank it in. This was what he needed.

 

Cullen looked into her face and away, shook his head to throw off his depraved visions of her, her tiny body at his mercy. It didn't work. With a groan he raised himself to his knees, pulled her legs up and over his shoulders and rammed deep inside her, forcing high-pitched cries from her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed, a frown almost of concentration on her delicate face, then she came a second time, pushing back against him, her back arching and a shuddering wail escaping her throat as she clenched around his cock.

She was a thing, an illusion, a vision sent to torment him. It meant nothing, nothing.

But her eyes opened, and she looked up at him with such sorrow, such compassion it nearly brought him undone. His Cat, his little mage.

He hated her.

With a growl he turned her over, pinned her hands against the mattress and took her from behind, and she accepted him silently, bracing herself against the bed. The sweat coating them both amplified the slap of his skin on hers as he pounded, plundered, poured himself into her. He felt her shudder beneath him as she orgasmed again, gasping. He pushed her down, her cheek pressed against the pillow as he grasped her hips and drove into her until finally he came with an animal cry, all his terror and anguish and despair spilling into her.

In the aftermath he lay heaving and panting, face resting against her glistening skin and his mind finally, mercifully blank. 

 

After some time she felt him slide from her and she rolled onto her back. He lay next to her and before long his body started to shake, his shoulders racked with silent sobs. She gathered his head to her breast and he clung to her, tremors running through him as his hands clutched at her bare skin. They trailed soft fingers over each other, finding new scars.

“Please, Cullen,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “You can cry. I'm here. Please.” He shook his head, silent, obstinate. When his breathing finally settled she thought he might sleep, but instead he disentangled himself and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor.

His back was to her as he dressed. Suddenly cold, she clutched the sheets around her naked body.

“Cullen?”

He paused, but did not turn back to her.

“What became of Ser Galloway?”

He stared into the fire, now reduced to dully glowing embers, and his voice was low. “He was killed when the Circle fell.”

“How?”

Cullen shifted and she could see his profile outlined against the dying fire. “There was...chaos. Perhaps he was slain by a demon or an abomination. Perhaps a blood mage.” His mouth twisted in the parody of a smile. “I suppose we will never know.”

She closed her eyes. "Thank you."

He moved to go, and with his hand on the door he paused. “Cat”, he murmured, and the single syllable held a world of sadness. “This was...wrong...you and I. We should not see each other again.”

"I'm still me," she whispered. "I'm the same person I always was."

"Yes," he said. "You are."

She lay awake long after he left, her tiny frame curled in a ball on the huge bed, the dull ache between her legs nothing compared to the vast emptiness in her chest.

 

* * *

 

 

She stood for the moment alone atop the roof of Fort Drakon, a tiny eye in the storm of battle. Dark clouds rolled above her, the sky stained a sick shade of orange, its glow casting an unnatural pall on her skin. Far away she heard the clash of steel, the cries of men and the guttural snarls of darkspawn as they battled in the streets of Denerim below.

Around her bodies lay where they fell, the blood of humans, elves and darkspawn alike mingling on the dark stone. Combat raged here too but the darkspawn horde was thinning, the ozone-tinged crackle of magic filling the air as the remaining Circle mages drew on their last reserves of mana. She heard an inhuman shriek as a bolt of electricity knifed through a genlock, leaving its corpse smouldering and twitching on the stone. Sten roared as his greatsword cleaved into the neck of a fleeing hurlock. Leliana was silhouetted by flame, an arrow singing from her bow even as her hand moved unerringly to pluck another from her quiver.

A blow of the archdemon’s tail had sent Cat flying, her staff knocked from her hand and skittering away across the flagstones. The colossal creature was down for now, its greasy scales peppered with arrows, shredded wings flapping uselessly as it struggled to raise its giant serpentine head. One of the monster’s eyes was a bloody ruin, the other rolling wildly in its head before it settled on her with a yellow glare. Its mouth opened as if to roar, but all that came forth was a wet gurgle. The time had come for the killing blow.

Off to her left Alistair staggered, blood streaming from a gash above his eye. His face was set with grim determination, knuckles clenched white around the hilt of his sword. If he could, she knew, he would be the one to strike the archdemon down, and the blow would also end his life.

_Our king._

He had no notion of the lifeline that Morrigan had dangled before her. The bitter words of last night still echoed in her head, sometimes the same, sometimes changing, imagining herself assenting to the witch’s bargain, a lifetime’s indoctrination abandoned in the name of survival for them both. Temptation.

_Do not ask me this! I will not, I cannot join the cause of a demon! A fucking archdemon, no less! This is not what we have fought for._

_It is not the archdemon I seek, but the soul of the Old God it carries…_

_I will not argue technicalities with you, Morrigan. You cannot understand the forces you toy with! The demon will be slain._

_And what of Alistair? Has he no say?_

_I am not some brothel madam! If you want this of him, ask him yourself!_

And with a final outburst of scorn and fury Morrigan had taken her leave, sorrow in her yellow eyes. By morning she had vanished, Catryn knew not where.

Now, casting her eyes about for a weapon she spied a silverite greatsword, its blade lodged in the ribcage of a fallen darkspawn. It looked heavy, more a warrior’s weapon than that of a slight mage, but surely not much heavier than the solid oaken staff she usually carried. After months of toil and combat, she could swing the staff with ease, casting with a smooth grace that would have surprised her tutors in the Circle. She turned again to Alistair and he met her gaze, his chest heaving. She drew herself upright, her breath steady, resolve hardening inside her. Fragments of prayer drifted across the still pond of her mind, the chants she had always scorned. Voices raised in praise of the Maker. Cullen’s Maker. She closed her eyes for a second and saw his face, the dawning affection, the lust, the dark anger and finally the infinite weariness in his eyes.

_Blessed art thou who exists in the sight of the maker…_

The wind whipped her pale hair, her grey eyes shining with a hint of steel. The huge demon writhed and struggled before her as she stood rigid, tiny and fragile. But in that moment, she was a giant.

_Blessed are the penitents who seek his return..._

She was running, running, every muscle burning, blood roaring in her ears. Her steady hands gripped the hilt of the greatsword and without breaking stride she pulled it free.

_Blessed is the prophetess, purified by flame..._

With a cry of wordless rage, she charged.


End file.
